


you're my favourite game.

by delusionalwithlove



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Frottage, Gay Chicken, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, this is my second day in edm fandom and I am already in hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3224528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delusionalwithlove/pseuds/delusionalwithlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which porter starts a game without considering the consequences, and hugo is way too good at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't the best fic but tbh i wrote it 24 hours after entering this fandom and with no sleep, so oops. I have been dropped into the hell dimension known as porter/hugo and may never fight my way back out. 
> 
> this takes place at ultra 2013. based off of THAT picture (u know which one I mean. [this one](http://worldredeye.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/DSC_5690.jpg).)

"I think I'd like to suck your cock later."

It takes every ounce of Porter's willpower to keep his expression neutral. Or as neutral as he ever manages to look in Hugo's presence, anyway, which (judging by a few self-indulgent google searches) is decidedly closer to 'smitten' than he'd prefer. Ever since Dillon sent him a link to a rare photo of Hugo next to him with the caption, "nice shot of you ogling your BOYFRIEND," Porter has been working on it. 

He hasn't been making any progress, apparently, because a breathless noise tears out of his throat, and he feels his smile falter like an afterthought. Hugo is so fucking _close_ , and really, Porter shouldn't be reacting this way. Hugo is always this close to him when they're together that he's forgotten what a normal, friendly distance feels like, and he's long since chalked it up to the concept of personal space being lost in translation. But it's never been quite like this, he has to admit; there's something purposeful about it now, the way Hugo's insinuating himself into Porter's space, the way he's leaning in to whisper everything in Porter's ear when he could easily be heard at normal volume.

The fact that he's blithely discussing Porter's cock in public, as if picking up where they left off in a conversation about it.

Porter is pretty fucking sure he would remember if they had ever discussed this particular subject anywhere outside of his wildly inappropriate (and unavoidable) fantasies. It's true that they've been toeing the line all night, and it's definitely true that Porter started it. A festival photographer had approached them, and Porter had made a split-second decision not to slide his arm around Hugo's waist, as their proximity called for, but to settle the palm of his hand firmly on Hugo's ass as the flash went off.

He'd been messing around, hoping to unsettle Hugo enough that he'd look ridiculous in the photo (for _once_ , he had thought bitterly, because he always looked perfect and it really was not fair), expecting to get a laugh at best, or a weak punch to the shoulder at worst. What he got instead was so much worse. Or better. He's not sure which yet.

Hugo had turned to look at him with the most intense expression Porter had ever seen on his delicate features outside of a stage set or a recording booth, and he had leaned _closer_ , not moving out of Porter's grip but further into it, searching his face for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it, because he'd grinned so brightly that it felt like a second flash going off in Porter's eyes. He had then silently started a game with himself called Drive Porter Insane All Night Until He Breaks.

Plus, he now had to struggle with the knowledge that Hugo did have an ass hidden in his skinny jeans, and it was— nice. Very nice. So nice that Porter had to force himself to remove his hand before he lost control and _squeezed_.

As distressing as that revelation was, it was nothing compared to what Hugo proceeded to do to him over the next couple of hours. It was a huge festival, and yet Hugo never moved more than a few inches out of Porter's orbit all night, and he never stopped touching him. His hands were all over Porter, hooked around his upper arm or smoothing against the small of his back or brushing against his collarbones as Hugo played idly with his necklace, barely paying attention to anyone who happened to be speaking to them at the moment.

And if Porter didn't know any better, he'd think that Hugo has been flirting with him. _All night_. There's been a charged undercurrent to everything Hugo has said to him tonight, a lilt to his voice, an inflection as he leans in to whisper it directly into Porter's ear, and each time he comes away looking noticeably pleased with himself. Porter has been able to deal with it until now and even play along, brushing it off as Hugo messing with him and taking deep, calming breaths through his nose while pretending this is par for the course.

And then. "I think I'd like to suck your cock later." Holy shit.

Hugo's breath is hot against the shell of his ear, not unpleasantly so, and when he pulls back to see Porter's expression, his eyes are fever-bright, and his cheeks are flushed. Porter is tempted to press his hand to Hugo's forehead and check for a temperature, because his sense of logic flew out the window when the word _cock_ came out of Hugo's mouth. Maybe he's the one with the fever, now that he thinks about it; he's uncomfortably warm, which makes little sense as it's March and there's been a cool, steady breeze sweeping through the festival all day.

"I think I'm hallucinating. What did you say?" Hugo's eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly, and he looks like he's fighting a laugh as he leans back into Porter's space. The tip of his nose brushes Porter's skin, and he fights off the urge to shiver.

"I said," he murmurs, moving closer and letting his lips brush against Porter's jaw as he speaks so the words feel like they're being burned into Porter's skin. " _I think I'd like to suck your cock later._ " Porter can't help but shiver this time, shock flooding him in an icy wave from head to toe, followed quickly by something else, warm and heady. It takes him a second to realize that he's really fucking aroused.

"Oh." Porter's voice sounds strange to his own ears, like hearing himself through a tin can. It doesn't feel like a game anymore, but it feels like he may have lost anyway, judging by how smug Hugo looks at the moment, surveying his handiwork. It takes a minute to regain himself, and even though he still feels dazed and off-kilter, Porter manages to put a convincing smirk on his lips, covering himself with fake confidence to hide how much he _wants_ that.

Like, a lot. More than he even realized previously, because before, he'd never had such a clear image of what Hugo would look like with his lips around Porter's dick. It's staggering.

"I think I'd like that." It's clear even to him that he's trying to feign nonchalance, but Hugo still has to visibly catch his breath. The flush has spread high in his cheeks now, a lovely color of pink to match his lower lip where it's caught between his teeth, and Porter should be more unsettled by the fact that he thinks _that's adorable_ and then, immediately after that, _I wonder if he looks like that when he's getting blown._ Porter desperately wants to find out.

It's becoming less and less like a game with each shot fired, but Porter can't help but fire off another one, if only for the look on Hugo's face. "Your room, or mine?"

It's worth it, but not in the way he expects. Hugo makes a small, strangled noise in his throat, and for a second, he looks like he might fall apart. Then, way more quickly than Porter could ever manage, he's back to looking like a cat that has finally drawn level with its prey. "Mine." Porter's mouth falls open a little, and Hugo levels him again with that blinding smile. "I paid for the suite, so my bed is quite large."

And before Porter knows what's happened to him, Hugo is gone, disappearing into the crowd with a wave to someone he seems to have just caught sight of. Porter blinks stupidly at his retreating back, wondering if the game is over, or what he's meant to do next, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. There's a single text notification on the lock screen.

_Room 405._

He is so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which porter comes to some not-so-shocking revelations, and hugo is forward enough for the both of them.

In the several hours between receiving the text and showing up at room 405, Porter has had more crises than he thought was possible in such a short time. He may have been struggling with this very problem for longer than he'd like to admit, but now that he's being forced to confront it in such a specific way, he can't just brush it off and put his focus elsewhere.

The problem being that he's sort of in love with Hugo Leclercq.

He should knock. That's what sane people generally do when faced with a door.

He stands in the hallway, thinking this, for an embarrassingly long time before the door flies open of its own accord. Before Porter can wonder if he's finally going to get a Hogwarts letter, Hugo appears from behind it, clutching a towel.

"Are you going to spend the whole night in the hallway, or are you coming in?" His voice isn't as charged as it was before, but Porter is certain that it's still teasing, flirty. What's jarring is that it's how Hugo normally speaks to him, and he's only just picked up on it, maybe because he hadn't had anything else to compare it with.

Hugo has changed out of his festival clothes. Porter almost mourns the loss of those tight jeans, but the grey sweats he's wearing now look so soft, and somehow thinner than the jeans did. He has on the same white v-neck shirt, or maybe an identical one, and without the sharp lines of his leather jacket, the shirt accentuates his narrow shoulders and dips low to reveal his collarbone on one side.

"Porter?" He realizes that he's just standing there, _staring,_ and jumps at the sound of Hugo's voice.

"Uh, sorry. I'm coming in." What he'll do once he's inside is a mystery, but he steps into the room anyway, curiosity overpowering his fear. Hugo's hair is wet, he notices, which explains the towel; he must have been in the shower. The thought strikes him that Hugo was naked, possibly moments before opening the door, and Porter suddenly feels too hot again.

"Are you alright?" Hugo seems worried. Porter would be worried too, he thinks, because he's probably acting like a lunatic. As if to demonstrate his own point, Porter takes a beat too long to answer, as he's busily sweeping his eyes over Hugo's hair, wondering if it smells nice.

"Fine. Peachy. Totally fine." Hugo doesn't seem convinced, but he smiles anyway, dropping the towel into a small hamper and crossing an already small distance between them. He's so close that Porter can smell the flowery scent of shampoo drifting off of his hair, and he fails to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his nose to Hugo's temple so he can breathe it in.

This seems to please Hugo, who makes a small noise that Porter can only describe as fond, and then he winds his thin arms around Porter's neck, leaning bodily against him. It's so much, all at once, and Porter is frozen with his hands hovering in the air, just short of Hugo's waist.

"Would you like what you were promised?" Hugo breathes, his breath warming the spot just beneath his ear, just before pressing a small kiss to that spot that makes Porter shiver and lurch away from him. Not by much, but enough to make Hugo let go of him, which is the only indication he needs to know that he's definitely losing it. In no universe, real or parallel, would Porter want Hugo to let go of him, but he needs to know.

"This isn't part of the game, is it?" Porter winces; he sounds as wretched as he feels, suddenly, at the thought that this might just be a game to Hugo.

"Do I look like I'm playing?" Hugo regards him with a look that is somehow equal parts serious and amused, eyebrows arching as if he thinks Porter is being ridiculous. Which, he is, but it's a moot point.

"Not really," Porter murmurs, watching the minute changes in Hugo's face, the way his lips twitch upward at the corners, eyebrows traveling higher. On anyone else, this expression would be mocking, maybe even a little mean, and would make him feel like an idiot; but Hugo's eyes are wide and earnest, his smile amused but without any trace of cruelty, and he mostly just feels confused.

"I guess I just don't- understand. What you want, I mean." What he doesn't understand is why Hugo would want to do anything remotely sexual with him for real, outside of the bounds of a stupid game between friends, but he has trouble voicing this. His insecurity must show, because Hugo seems to understand anyway.

"I want to kiss you, Porter. No game." Hugo says it matter-of-factly, like he hasn't just blown Porter's mind utterly to pieces. "I have wanted to, but I didn't think you noticed. Forgive me for playing games with you, but I didn't know how to be more obvious."

"You want to kiss me." Porter is in a daze, and starting to wonder if he's in a dream as Hugo makes a frustrated little noise and all but stamps his foot on the floor, dragging a hand through his hair with clear frustration. The fond look hasn't left his eyes, though.

"What do you want?" He's immediately overwhelmed by all the many, detailed, graphic answers he could give to that question, and he's silent for a moment. Just long enough for Hugo to get this uncertain, almost sad look on his face that Porter absolutely cannot abide.

He makes the loveliest noise when Porter surges forward and takes him by the waist, carefully using his weight and slight height advantage to maneuver Hugo until he's pressed back against the door. His thigh naturally slides forward to rest between Hugo's, and he makes an even lovelier noise at that, arching forward so they're pressed together as closely as he can manage.

The tip of his nose brushes Porter's, and he thinks deliriously, _I love your stupid nose._ He tangles a hand in Hugo's damp hair to hear the soft noise he makes, tipping his head back to bare his throat as he looks at Porter expectantly. _I love your stupid hair._

"And?" Hugo asks, sounding at once like all the air has been stolen from his lungs. Porter didn't realize he was speaking aloud, but he doesn't care, because Hugo has that intense look on his face again, like they're the only two people currently on the planet.

"I sort of love you," he blurts out, and in a panic move, Porter kisses him before he can say anything. Holy shit. He's _kissing Hugo_. And Hugo is kissing back, long fingers twisting in Porter's hair and gently maneuvering him, turning his head so he can deepen the kiss until the soft, insistent pressure of his lips makes Porter's toes curl in his boots.

When they finally part for air, Hugo's lips are slick and have turned a wonderful shade of red, and Porter reaches up to run the pad of one finger over his lower lip, thinking dazedly, _I did that_. Hugo looks him straight in the eye and wraps his lips around the digit, tongue twisting suggestively against the skin as he very pointedly _sucks_.

Porter jerks his hips forward involuntarily, a gasp tearing out of him as he realizes he's painfully hard against Hugo's leg. The other boy smirks, rolling his hips up into Porter's to emphasize the fact that he's in a similar condition, and Porter's skin burns where the hot pressure of Hugo's dick rests on his thigh.

"Are you going to take me to bed anytime soon, or are we doing this like teenagers?" Hugo teases, although the husky quality of his voice as he snaps his hips forward again takes any bite out of it. He seems content, actually, to get off right where they're standing, if the way he's moving against Porter is any indication, but Porter is too intent on getting those sweatpants off to give in.

"Fuck— yeah, bed," he gasps, unable to stop himself from reciprocating Hugo's sinuous movements with a thrust of his own that leaves both of them breathing hard, Hugo's face buried in the crook of Porter's neck. They need to move to get to the bed. He knows this. He just can't seem to execute it, because he'd have to stop touching Hugo, and that's not acceptable at the moment.

Hugo seems to realize they're at an impasse. With a force that Porter would not expect from such a spindly person, if he had not been at the receiving end of it before, Hugo pushes him back far enough to untangle their legs, hooking one of his own around Porter's hips and bracing his hands firmly on Porter's shoulders. 

"Lift," he says, impatient, and Porter does, grasping him firmly about the waist and lifting him up, even though he's not sure what the endgame is here - until Hugo uses the momentum to wrap both legs around his hips and settle against him with maddening pressure. Just because he can, Porter moves his hands down to grasp at Hugo's ass, supporting him and blatantly copping a feel at the same time. Hugo rewards him with another torturous roll of his hips, followed by a surprised little moan right into Porter's ear, and Porter almost drops him.

Somehow they make it across the room without any injuries, but they never make it to the bed. By the time they reach the wide leather couch in the center of the room, both of them are shaking both from the effort and the friction, and in a completely hot, uncharacteristic move, Hugo groans " _Fuck it_ " and uses his weight to topple them over the back and onto the cushions.

Porter lands on his back, not sure if he's lost the ability to breathe due to the impact. or due to the fact that Hugo is straddling him now, ceaselessly grinding down against him, his cock burning hot like a firebrand in the smooth valley of Porter's hip. His thigh is a hard, unyielding pressure against Porter's erection, and without another thought, Porter thrusts up to meet Hugo's movements, groaning as he shamelessly ruts against the other like he's in high school again, frantically hooking up under the bleachers before they inevitably get caught.

It shouldn't be as hot as it is, but Porter is already resigned to the fact that he's going to come In his pants for the first time in years, so he silently echoes _fuck it_ , and arches up to tangle his hands in Hugo's hair, pulling him down for a kiss.

It ends with them panting into each others' mouths more than actually kissing, Hugo's needy little moans sounding against Porter's lips. He realizes that his own name is mixed in with the desperate, breathy sounds Hugo is making, and that's all it takes. Porter buries his face in Hugo's neck to muffle his cry as he comes, holding tightly to the other boy as he trembles through it, Hugo's lips against his temple, murmuring hot nonsense.

He catches _yes_ , _come on,_ and a strangled _merde_ as Hugo makes an aborted thrust with his hips and abruptly stills, coming with a long, low moan that makes goosebumps erupt across Porter's skin. In silent agreement, they collapse onto the couch together, a sweaty tangled mess of limbs and Hugo's stupid hair fanning out over Porter's chest, and Porter slides his fingers through the strands with the heart-warming knowledge that he's allowed to now, brushing it reverently back from Hugo's face.

"We'll make it to bed next time," Hugo murmurs, a laugh lingering in his voice as he cranes his neck to press a kiss to Porter's throat, right over his rabbit-quick pulse, and all Porter can do is beam because there will be a _next time_.


End file.
